


Every Speed on Our Knees Is Crawling

by waketosleep



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Angst, Character Study, Gen, Origins, Post-Movie(s), Self-Defense, Self-Discovery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-12
Updated: 2011-06-12
Packaged: 2017-10-20 08:39:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,271
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/210856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/waketosleep/pseuds/waketosleep
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Even in a wheelchair, Charles doesn't need anybody's protection from harm. But he does need better priorities, as it turns out, and it's about time he grew up a little.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Every Speed on Our Knees Is Crawling

**Author's Note:**

> I just wanted to write about Charles basically killing someone with his brain (because he is actually a badass in that way) and then feeling vaguely bad about it even though it was in self-defense. Then I realized maybe I needed a story _around_ that, so... *waves* There. There sort of is one, now.

He was in his study when it happened. It was a beautiful, sunny day and Hank and Alex had thrown open the windows for him to let in the air and the sounds of some of the children outside. He was supposed to be working on a curriculum for the fall term but instead he was leaning back and glaring at the windows, thinking about how they bloody well doted on him these days, like he was some sort of invalid.

Well.

He pushed his wheelchair back from the desk a fraction. Maybe they could be forgiven for thinking him a bit infirm. But that didn't mean that he had to like it.

No sooner had he sighed at this thought than the heavy, wooden doors of the study were bashed open, swinging into the adjacent bookshelves, and two men with guns stormed in. Charles clutched at the arms of his chair and flicked a thought at Hank, Alex, Darwin and Sean to look after the younger children as they advanced on his desk.

"Charles Xavier?" one of them said.

Were they expecting him to say something like, _oh, yes, what would you like?_ in response to that? He stared at the guns and rage washed over him.

"You are in my home," he said, pushing his chair back a bit more from the desk to gain room to manoeuvre.

"We're taking you with us," said the first man, the team leader perhaps, completely ignoring his words.

Charles spoke again and this time he looked the man right in the eyes. "You. Are in. My home."

The man finally hesitated at the psychic shove but his partner pressed on, moving to circle the desk toward Charles.

"Stop," said Charles, and they both froze. All they could still control was their eyes, which meant they finally looked directly at him.

"How dare you?" he said, turning his chair for a good vantage upon them both. "How _dare_ you come here, to a place that has been designated a safe haven, and bring _guns_ and threaten anyone? Do you know who I am? What I can do to you with a _thought_?"

Their eyes betrayed their growing fear. He found himself basking in it.

"When you can move again," he went on, "you are going to drop your weapons."

He released them and they did, placing them on the rug in tandem and backing away a step, two steps, with their hands in the air. Their muscles quivered with the desire not to obey him; their faces contorted with the strain. Charles' hands stayed on the wheel rims of his chair; he didn't need any weak gestures to find his focus, not today.

He looked to the leader. "Who sent you?" But he wasn't asking, he was ransacking the man's thoughts, going through them like files in a cabinet, throwing things every which way in his wake. A drop of blood trickled out of the man's nose. They were CIA black operatives. Jesus Christ. At least there were only the two of them. The CIA would disavow knowledge of their existence now that their mission had failed. That showed him one way forward from this mess. They had also done all of the reconnaissance necessary to find the house on their own. Small blessings. And of course the mission wasn't to kidnap him, it was to kill him and remove his body back to Virginia. For examination, probably.

Charles forced them back almost to the doorway, stopping them side-by-side as he arranged himself behind his desk again.

"You know what has to happen here," he said quietly. "I am merely protecting my students. Our location cannot be discovered or you certainly won't be the last team sent by the government--or any organization--with intent to do us harm. I hope you gentlemen don't mind if paranoia causes me to be thorough." With that, he took a deep breath and whited out their minds, one by one, of all their contents. There was no need to hold them immobile at that point and so he released them; they sagged as though their strings had been cut, vacant looks on their faces. Charles closed his eyes and could feel, hear, see their heartbeats. Still steady and strong.

"That's it," he said softly, "there we go. Slowing down, now," he crooned as the heartbeats grew sluggish. "And... there." He opened his eyes again as the men's hearts ceased to beat and they collapsed on the floor, an ungainly heap.

Charles stared at the bodies, finally raising a shaking hand to rub at his forehead. _Only following orders,_ he thought spitefully, and then shook his head.

Hank and Alex burst into the room, shouting.

"Professor, are you--"

"We're coming--"

They stopped, nearly tripping over each other, when they saw the bodies, and then looked up at him in a simultaneous, slow horror.

Charles stared bleakly back at them, trying to name the look that settled on their faces. Not fear. Not really. Awe? Respect. It was respect. That he could so thoroughly deal with the problem before they had time to tear in and rescue him with youth and strength. He rolled himself over to one of the windows, staring out at a cloud. "The problem has been dealt with. I hope the rest of the students are safe."

"W-we left Sean and Darwin with them," said Alex dumbly.

"Good. Hank, I hate to trouble you with this, but could you see about--"

"I've got it under control, Professor," said Hank. "Alex, get their guns. Try not to shoot yourself in the foot." And under Alex's obligatory complaints, Charles heard Hank pick up both bodies, probably slinging each over a shoulder, to go and vanish them thoroughly from anyone's concern.

Charles watched the cloud dissipate sadly. This was where running and hiding got you. This was where unchecked optimism got you, too. He had been weak and this had been an object lesson for him. Children were under his care--they trusted him, he was their mentor--and instead of being a protector he had presented a target. He might never walk again but he had better things to offer, and it was time to start. He'd been admonishing other mutants to push their limits and yet he hadn't done the same.

He turned from the window now that the room was cleared, and moved back to his desk. Some kind of protection for the estate, that was the obvious first step. A filter of some kind; a _perception_ filter, of sorts. Convincing onlookers that nothing of interest stood on the site. He would have to maintain it at all times he was on the property and there was no way he could see to hold it up in his absence, but he didn't foresee leaving anytime soon at any rate. Such constant telepathic effort could be taxing; he was going to find out where his limits were very shortly, and then work himself past them and beyond, but for his students he would do it. He would drain himself if it came to that.

He'd always wanted love and appreciation, thought that to be the great benefit of teaching, but respect was what he needed to command, now. Authority. He'd still been a child himself, until today, and it was past time to lay youth aside and be a man instead. A great man, with or without a wheelchair. A person respected for his capabilities instead of just his actions.

Time to stop acting like Charles and start acting more like Professor X.

 

THE END


End file.
